


Mistakenly Yours

by charll



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Drinking, Humor, M/M, Semi-Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:06:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charll/pseuds/charll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue Corvan Lavellan stumbles his way from chantry prisoner to hero of Thedas, leaving his once carefree life behind him to become a reluctant savior. Though wooing a certain Tevinter mage certainly can't take priority over healing the hole in the sky, can it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Corvan Lavellan was always moving, settling into the next tavern and jumping out of the next Orlesian noble’s trophy room. Lithe frame ducking around corners, dodging attacks thrown by whichever mage or templar he’d drunkenly insulted. It was entirely different kind of living from how he was raised, hunting with the clan in a thick of forrest, watching halla migrate through the hills in the spring. He liked it. He liked the danger of being different.

 

A red mop of hair and acorn colored skin made him stick out growing up. He grew fascinated with those who wandered into his clan’s land, only but passing strangers seeking the best path forward; qunari and the occasional human. He filled his own head with images of what their adventures would hold, and to the annoyance of the keeper, became obnoxiously vocal on their theoretical tales. Maybe that was one of the reasons why leaving them upon maturing wasn't as hard as it should have been.

 

There was a very specific kind of ache that came with living up to expectations. Even in the misguided act of receiving his vallaslin, hoping to find his place, would pull him further and further away, right into a shemlin holy war. On his more expressive days he'd call himself a treasure hunter, an adventurer. He lived for the thrill of the hunt, the feeling of immense joy when he'd unhood his unkempt hair, dust himself off , and lay claim to whatever treasures or trinkets uncovered. Fen'Harel walked with him, his mother used to say. And while his own gods were wasted on him, he knew he was not some Andrastan prophet.

 

Needless to say, Haven had been infuriating. Weeks ago he was their prisoner being paraded through the village as a cautionary tale. He couldn't see the faces leering at him, judging him. In that moment, he was thankful for the swollen eye, the blood running out his likely broken nose. The Seeker's fist had hit true after he’d tried to sweet talk his way to freedom. He’d taken note; Cassandra Pentaghast was not a woman to be trifled with.

 

 Now, however, the situation had changed. He was now their champion, their "Herald." He'd preferred when they all hated him, back when he could have snuck out in the dead of night and be rid of the sickeningly devout settlement. It was the most frustrating string of misfortune on his part. It turned his stomach.

 

 Stumbling into the murder of Divine Justinia was a mistake. Being made into the Andrastan sword and shield was a mistake. And becoming bound to a banner of duty and honor when his body ached for him to run was definitely a mistake. It was so unfortunate it was almost laughable. He wasn't sold on organized religion.

 

He'd taken to venturing along the frozen lake, blending in to the tree line, absentmindedly chasing nugs. It beat the staring and whispering in the village. Cassandra would clench her jaw in mild frustration when he would catch her eye and then immediately cloak himself. She was rarely pleased with his antics. In her eyes, he seemed more interested in running than accepting his newfound responsibilities.

 

He'd braced himself for a tavern full of villagers and soldiers, retelling the tales of the Herald of Andraste with much embellishment and enthusiasm. He did not expect Sera to be leading the charge with full physical reenactment. When he'd walked in, ram leather coat swaying lightly, they cheered and cried, no thanks to the animated elf now balanced with one foot on a wooden chair, arms pantomiming the draw of her bow.

 

“Someone treat our Herald here!”

 

Sera would be the death of him. He’d learned to enjoy her company, as long as he knew she had no mental filter. Corvan was leaning his weight over his free cup of mead. They were always free, he was beginning to learn.

 

* * *

 

 

"I'm not! "

 

"You are!"

 

"No!"

 

"How can you say that? All these people here are for you. You're the freaking Herald!"

 

"Just because you say it louder doesn't make it any more true," Lavellan took another swig of mead. Sera had a very childlike stubbornness to her. Though he had to admit, she also possessed a particular wisdom that tended to peak is nose in at the drop of a hat. She was absolutely daft, but he kept smiling.

 

"Come on. You traveled through time, you did," she patted him on the back as he took another drink, something he should have expected as he now choked down the cold liquid.

 

"That doesn't make me divinely touched, it means a mage went insane," he said with dwindling strength.

 

He wasn't going to try and fight her any longer than he had to, usually he'd be leaving with a headache. It wouldn't help any. But he was becoming more and more open to the idea as long as grateful soldiers kept sending more drinks his way.

 

"What a nutter, yeah? Can't imagine that future was much for fun." She took a another drink.

 

Corvan hadn't told Sera or madame Vivienne much beyond the necessities for obvious reasons. It scared him to remember that future. It scared him when he returned through a portal of time magic he didn't understand. And as much has they'd prevailed, it scared him to face the magister broken before him.

 

"I'll bet you Josie's silky nikkers it didn't turn out the way he'd envisioned. That's how it usually goes, yeah?"

 

Corvan hummed in agreement. Hearing Sera's lyrium altered voice flashed through his mind. He never wanted to hear that joyless lilt ever again. One thing he'd credit the other elf with was her ability for empathy, she just hid it deep, deep down where no one could exploit it.

 

"It's not all glum, " she perked slightly, the giggle that was just so Sera seeped through.

 

Corvan loved laughter. It was one of the reasons he frequented taverns on his travels. The happy drunken ones. It made him feel less guilty about robbing a city noble blind that same evening, maybe it became his own little ritual for luck. Sera's laugh could give him more luck than he'd need in a lifetime.

 

"We picked up that _slice_ of Tevinter cake-"

 

Corvan nearly spat out his drink all over the table.  _Did she just-_

 

"What, he's well fit," she giggled at the reaction. He was not prepared, and she loved doing that sort of thing.

 

"He's fun."

 

"Yes traveling through a demon infested loony castle with a Vint mage was _definitely_ what I'd call fun, on my list to do again, actually."

 

" _I_ think he's fun," she murmured into her cup as a plucky tune began. Corvan narrowed his eyes.

 

"Isn't that the minstrel that fancies you," he smirked knowing it'd make her uncomfortable. Sera however, was unknowable.

 

"Yeah, I'm thinking about chattin' her up. "

 

_Case and point._

 

"You said she was creepy," He said with an almost incredulous tone. His face had fallen slightly but he'd tried to rally. She was impossible. There seemed to be no way to shake her.

 

"I did, still do. But it gets freakin' lonely out here!"

 

She finished her drink and stood from her chair, winking at him as the tune finished,

 

"plus-" he looked at her with an eyebrow raised, "I hear bards are wild in the sack."

 

He sighed heavily, finishing up as he saw Sera leaning up against the wall next to the bard. Maybe a small part of him was jealous.

 

"Another time then," he muttered as he exited the rowdy tavern.

 

He felt the chill of the wintery air for only a moment. The heat of the tavern was at his back, and the mead began warming his core. He'd thought briefly if he'd underestimated the peacefulness of this place.

 

"Celebration over all ready?"

 

Corvan found himself startled out of his short lived appreciation. Their newest acquisition of Tevinter persuasion had caught him leaving the tavern as he passed by.

 

"If you call watching Sera woo that Bard who keeps following us from town to town a celebration then, yes."

 

He forced a laugh, that was a mouthful. Other than their time traveling adventure, the two had not exchanged words. He was trying not to make it so noticeably distant or awkward, but they'd only known each other a few days.

 

"Ah yes, that does sound like a party," Dorian replied with his own manner of wit. He definitely had a silver tongue, Corvan took note.

 

"I was just retiring to my tent, figured I'd go while most of the village was either asleep or too drunk to remember the horrific northerner occupying the same sleeping quarters." And so bitter too.

 

"They can't all feel that way, " Corvan humored him and straightened into a parody of a prideful posture, "after all, they have an elf defending their honor."

 

They both let out laughed a short, but genuine laugh, a mask for men who'd been hurt too much to care anymore.

 

"It's a bit strange having your own quarters," Corvan mused. Dorian regarded his statement with amusement and fascination.

 

"You've never?"

 

"I've slept in taverns, inns. I travel-" he stopped immediately to correct himself, " _used_ to travel a lot. Think I'd prefer the tent," he laughed again, a bit more heartily.

 

"Interesting how that works out," he regarded the elf with genuine interest.

 

"You know, I did get a hold of some fancy orlesian ale. I have to admit it'd be wasted on me."

 

Dorian shifted his weight, arms crossed, smiling.

 

"Are you offering your private stock to a near complete stranger? " he tutted humorously.

 

"Oh please, I'm making the rounds," he nodded over to the bubbly giggle from the tavern, "besides, liquor is liquor and I'll take what I can get. "

 

"I'll have to educate you then, because that is an absolute travesty."

 

* * *

 

The elf had to admit, Dorian had an amazing way of insulting you and remaining as charming as could be. On their way over to his quarters Corvan had managed to pick up Varric and the qunari the Iron Bull. Dorian had to admit he was more comfortable with Dwarven company. Varric caught Cassandra's attention and she somehow agreed to tag along, if not only to keep an eye on the dwarf.

 

Corvan had brought the spirits and they gathered around a small camp fire near the barracks. He didn't expect it to be so comfortable. Varric and Bull were having an animated discussion on the Qun and literary representation of Qunari culture. Cassandra was finally relaxing, observing the conversation with a small and contented smile. She'd only drank one cup, but Corvan knew everyone needed some time to relax.

 

"Tevinter. Do you miss it?" Dorian hadn't expected that particular question so soon. He thought carefully.

 

"Yes and no." He took another drink of the dwindling ale.

 

Corvan leaned in closer. The others were fully engaged elsewhere. 

 

"It is different down south. It's strange to see mages treated the way they are. In Tevinter it's considered unlucky if you are born with no magic-"

 

"And the lack of slavery, is that so strange too?" He hadn't meant to cut him off, hadn't meant to sound so accusatory. The ale was definitely affecting him.

 

" _Shit_ , I didn't mean-"

 

"No, it deserves an answer. I admit, on the whole, Tevinter has some questionable ethical practices. The act of selling yourself or being sold into bondage is deplorable, bordering on barbaric. But that's not to say there aren't benefits."

 

"For you or the slaves," Corvan asked genuinely, trying to cover up his aggressive attitude.

 

"There is no reason why it can't be both."

 

Corvan couldn't help but bristle at the words. He'd seen what slavery had done to his people. And despite all their differences, he abhorred slavery. Elves already had the cards stacked against them in most places.

 

"I've seen families live and support each other while working as slaves. They fare far better than those free and struggling to run small businesses. Not all slaves are treated poorly, " he paused, trying to sound less passionate on the subject, "though many still are. That is unsavory."

 

Corvan hummed. Slavery turned his stomach. But the mage wasn't the only one who became a product of their upbringing. He had to remember that. This man was offering his help, and he _had_ saved Corvan's life already.

 

"Tevinter," he'd thought for a moment, "is complicated. It has the potential for greatness and it's squandered on cyclical politics and back alley deals, corruption, and yes, the ethics of the slave trade." Corvan have him his full attention. He could tell Dorian had conflicting feelings about his homeland, something he could relate to.

 

"It was hard to stay."

 

Corvan drank deeply from his cup as he soaked in the familiarity. Dorian pretended not to notice his eyes glaze over slightly as he took a larger than average gulp.

 

"As much as I probably shouldn't admit, I'm glad you spared Alexius," he'd treaded into possibly hostile territory, but couldn't help but feel slightly more at ease.

 

"He was your mentor, how could one not? I mean, barring the fact that he'd tried to kill us all, he must have been good at some point."

 

Corvan knew it must have been hard on the man. He'd never really had someone he'd called a mentor, never knew that kind of relationship. But he had known loss. 

 

"He was once, yes. A product of circumstance."

 

"What had happened that made him change?"

 

"Felix and his mother were attacked by darkspawn during their travels." Dorian took another sip. He'd had the elf's attention long ago.

 

"She died and he was sickened with the blight. Alexius never forgave himself for not accompanying them that night. He began spiraling downward after that. "

 

"That must have been hard to watch. " He knew Lavellan meant well but Dorian couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter.

 

"I assume so. I left soon after, " he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, glaring into the fire.

 

"We never really reconnected after that."

 

Corvan decided not to press it when he'd noticed conversations dwindling and Cassandra's light snoring. Varric rose to his feet, not wanting to ruin both the perfect image before him and the chances of him actually sleeping in a proper bed tonight. Bull gave a snort and rose as well.

 

"You two play nice, " Varric feigned chastisement at the two left by the fire.

 

Bull stood and waved them off, "See you bright and early, boss. "

 

Dorian could have sworn he saw the qunari wink in his direction. They watched the fire subdue, small embers slowly dying against the piles of ash.

 

"You obviously care very much for your homeland, for people in general, " Corvan began, "Even if I don't seem it, I'm happy you've tagged along. " H

 

e hoped that didn't sound as pathetic as it did in his head. Dorian laughed, taking note of Corvan's nervousness.

 

"Now don't get sentimental, we've only just met you know." he countered lightheartedly.

 

Corvan wished there was more to drink. All he could hear in his head was Sera giggling and likening him to a confectionery. He was thankful it was too dark to see his ears redden with embarrassment.

 

"Someone should really wake her up."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Haven

It was cold and his body ached. Corvan was waking on the frozen ground of what looked like an underground cave running beneath Haven. He figured it could have been much worse if he was indeed alive. The elf was thrown like a rag doll. It wasn't in his plans to be flattened into a pulpy  mass by a raving lyrium-mutated horror. He wasn't sure how much time had passed,  how long had he been prone for.

 

Lying on the ground somehow stifled the pain he should be feeling, though he knew that he couldn't stay for long.  He was certainly aware of his odds of survival,  and freezing alone in the dark was an extremely possible outcome.

 

With a small burst of strength he pushed himself up,  leaning his weight onto his left elbow.  Various small objects dusted the area,  including over his body. He swatted the clumps of splinted wood and cords of rope off his torso and legs, the sounds bouncing off the glistening walls of the ice cavern in a mild echo.

 

It took longer to finally stand. The thing called Corypheus had certainly man handled him during his siege of Haven, but the fall was what really devastated him.  After an exhale of breathe,  Corvan felt slick, hot liquid bloom across him, blood leaking from his nose and forehead. 

 

The once warm release of air from his chest had cooled and dried him. He was completely soaked, and the frigid dryness in the air did nothing to aid his situation. Corvan was entirely drained, but his feet continued to move.

 

He started off slow, measuring his movements to somehow draw his mind away from the ache in his chest.  He knew he'd broken more than one rib in the fall. As he reached a larger room of the cave,  his pace had quickened slightly and he'd found his aches dulling.  The familiar green tint of a fade rift blossomed before him.

 

Blocking the path were a handful of demons, chilling the air, as well as his bones. His arm was searing with pain, he'd almost collapsed right then from the shock and the heat. Heat burst from his hand and the wraithes that filled him with cold and despair were gone. 

 

_That was new._

 

It was only a moment before the weary elf had reached the cavern's mouth, being immediately greeted by walls of wind and snow. He shivered lightly.  If he'd thought about how cold he was he'd drop dead right then. 

 

His ram skin coat was merely surviving with each step into the deep powder, doing little to keep him insulated. There was a slight orange glow in the distance, somewhere relatively near was a camp. He would force himself onward. That light was his only chance.

 

He couldn't remember at which point his trek turned into an incline. His thighs began to burn. While painful, he was still thankful for something to counter act the cold. Only a few more steps.  He'd began hearing noises. Subtle things; a loud crack of a camp fire, a few voices muddled together,  the crisp crunch that came with a booted foot hitting the fresh fallen snow. 

 

" _It's him!_ " a loud cry,  a voice he didn't recognize, and then darkness.

 

He woke warm, a moderately thick woolen blanket was wrapped snugly around him.   the crackling and popping of a fire pit and heated voices bickering back and forth. He'd wished they'd shut up, his head was pounding. 

 

His vision was blurred as he slowly came into consciousness.  There was a warm figure next to him, soothing him with their presence.  He'd almost called for his mother. He'd stopped himself when he heard the soft voice of Mother Giselle reverberating from the mystery form,  peaceful as ever.  Though he could do without her insistence of his divine status,  he enjoyed her company.  It was soothing.

 

Corvan didn't know if he should step in and try to make his advisors play nice. He did know that he didn't want to. He wished it would all just stop. His head was swimming.

 

His stubbornness slowly died out as he pushed himself onto his elbows.  He was sore. Someone was kind enough to apply healing salves to his flesh wounds, but his bones still ached. If they ever left the small mountain sanctuary he'd get another healer to take a closer look. With his advisors bickering however, he couldn't envision that coming to pass any time soon.

 

"They've been at this for hours. “

 

"Can you blame them?  They witnessed the destruction of their sanctuary. They witnessed the fall of their champion.”

 

Though he highly disapproved of her referring to him as anyone's champion,  he  wasn't in the slightest mood to fight her.

 

"You were nearly frozen solid when the scouts found you, covered in cuts and bruises.”

 

He winced at an intake of breath that was meant to be calming.  He was obviously in no state to move heavily. He didn't need to relive his journey. He didn't need to hear her remind then how fucked they were.

 

She continued,  all "But here you are,  still-,"

 

"If you say standing, like some divine hero from your chantry hymns, so help me I'll-" he massaged his temples in agitation.

 

"You are _alive_." her face hardened slightly,  if only to assure him of his safety. Corvan's mood evened out, the irritated fire in his belly cooling into fizzling embers.  That damnable woman could calm a rage demon with a turn of her cheek.

 

"That," he paused, eyes refusing to meet hers, "may be more to the credit of your healers.”

 

"It was the madame enchanter and the young tevinter mage who tended to you."

 

Corvan's interest spiked briefly, head turned upward and eyes beady.  His body acted before his brain could intercept. His eyes found purchase on the back of an absolutely miserable looking mage. His blanket was missing and Corvan felt a twinge of guilt.

 

"Though most would not have made it as far as you did." The holy woman had tried to catch Corvan's eye, hoping to reassure him of his own self worth. She could tell his mind was elsewhere.

 

"The young man insisted, sending my healers away when they'd offered aid. " He could hear the slight disapproval on the treatment of her healers,  but he could tell she was more relieved that he'd woken up at all.

 

"After turning them away, Madame Vivienne oversaw and aided him," her soft voice was anything but naive. Corvan's head grew hot, ears burning yet not knowing completely why.

 

"A-ah, I should thank them I suppose then," he spoke without the conviction he carried naturally. Mother Giselle eyed him suspiciously.

 

"Yes, though it may be better to wait," she nodded over to the three absolutely pitiful looking advisors milling around in a fashion Corvan could only explain as an aggressive solitude.

 

He didn't know how to fix this. Thankfully, Mother Giselle was not a fool.  She'd rallied the camp in her own way.  It worked, and Corvan couldn't help but be envious over her singing voice. Solas had found the time to pull the elf slightly out of the camp afterwards.

 

"There is good news and bad news, " he began.

 

"The bad news is that Corypheus's power comes from an elven artifact. You've seen its power," he nodded slightly over to the swirling hole in the sky.

 

"We must recover it. I would suggest we keep the origin of the artifact secret. I fear what may come if they learn it originated from us." Corvan found it hard to disagree.

 

"And the good news?”

 

"There is a place waiting for us" Solas smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

"Sera, Varric,  Cassandra."

 

If they were to survive this there needed to be food for the journey.  Corvan and his advisors were still not entirety sure where they would be going. They simply had to trust in Solas's vague information.  They'd been in the mountain pass for little over a day, the urge to continue onward was a heavy pull.

 

The three milled about the camp,  gathering their weapons and meager supplies.  Corvan stood with Cullen and Lelianna going over a a very empty map, their possible location haphazardly scribbled in between the frostbacks, surrounded by a sea of blank parchment. The route they had taken from Haven was pure guess work, only identified through small landmarks. With his companions joining him, Corvan glanced up,  not meaning to focus on Dorian engaged in an animated conversation with the requisitions officer. He still hadn't thanked the man.

 

Corvan had decided to take the hunting party down to a small gully just outside the camp,  the treeline encroached about halfway down the hill. Hopefully they'd find more than just nugs before sundown.

 

"Sera you've got to be quieter. Animals have far better hearing than us. " 

 

Corvan sighed. The day was dragging on as the four hunters pushed through the trees.  As good as she was with her bow during fights and skirmishes,  she didn't seem to have the patience for hunting. Sera stuck out her tongue in defiance.

 

They'd caught five nugs and a few fennecs,  not enough to feed the camp.  They'd needed something big.

 

"Quiet!" Varric suddenly hushed the two elves, urging them to stop and quiet their movements.

 

"Look,  just down a ways from those trees, " he pointed to a single path of large footprints in the snow.  Druffalo.

 

Corvan turned back to his party, ideas forming.

 

"Alright.  Sera take the path to the left of the footprints, Varric to the right. Get him in your sights. We're going to flank him," he was determined. This was exactly what they needed.

 

"Cassandra, you'll be dealing the heavy damage. Once we have him surrounded I'll strike first,  that's the signal to fire." 

 

The archers split as Corvan cloaked himself and followed the tracks, Cassandra followed quietly as she could behind him.

 

The trees gave them optimal camouflage. They were well hidden,  though could still notice a small glimmer on Varric's crossbow,  or a small patch of Sera's loud yellow plaidsweave trousers.  The druffalo was not far down the path,  milling about a sparse gully.

 

Corvan carefully stepped in front of the animal, invisibly block his path. He took a deep breath, readying his blades to land the first blow. With one resolute jump, he dug his blades into the side of the massive druffalo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter chapter because I've been a bit busy. I-I'm sorry

Bringing back the hulking druffalo seemed to help in raising the spirits of the camp. Corvan found himself relieved that they hadn't gone that far, though the slight hill just outside the camp had been harder than he'd like to admit.  Despite some small cuts and bruises, they would have food for the night, as well as the journey to come. 

 

He was exhausted,  even more so with the admiring eyes of the people focusing on him. It made him uncomfortable. He laid back on his cot and turned his back to the noise of the camp, absent-mindedly clutching the blanket he'd woken up with the night before.

 

They were lucky the excursion had gone off without a hitch. No one was gored or trampled in the snow. He chuckled lightly to himself at the thought of the Inquisition coming to an early end due to one druffalo.

 

"I have something that will help with those scrapes, if you'd like."

 

The voice startled him as he bolted upright and turned his head to meet the man behind him. Dorian was standing a few feet away,  careful not to encroach on his space. Corvan reached up to his face to idly touch the small cuts. 

 

They weren't bad by any means,  though he wasn't going to turn down help offered freely.  He patted the spot next to him as an invitation, and the man complied.

 

Dorian reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a small case of mint scented balm.  He applied a small amount to his fingers, grasping Corvan's shoulder with the other hand and. As he applied the salve,  Corvan found the strength to open his mouth.

 

"Thank you.”

 

"It's nothing."

 

"I mean for the other night."

 

" _Oh._ "

 

He was dangerously close to blushing. _Maker, when did I become so disgustingly anxious?_   He tried to focus at the task at hand, delicately brushing over the small cut just above Corvan's lip.

 

"It was a learning experience, nothing more." Dorian was lying to himself and he knew it.

 

Corvan nodded once Dorian's hand left, not knowing what he expected to hear from the mage. 

 

"Seems to have paid off then, " Corvan stated curiously,  eyeing the healing balm.

 

"I don't have much experience with healing magic. Vivienne was kind enough to teach me a few things. It's just a mixture of elfroot and witherstalk extract, good for lacerations and such." Corvan could hear the underlying pride in his words. 

 

"I see. Aren't we lucky to have such skilled mages at our disposal." He couldn't help but grin obnoxiously.

 

"I wouldn't advertise it. The womanwould only aid me after throwing a few  _critiques_  my way." 

 

"Maker, I do hope that doesn't become common practice." 

 

They settled into silence as Dorian applied the last glob of slave to the other's wounds.

 

"Solas says there is a place north of here. We've already sent scouts out but," be paused, chewing on his bottom lip out of anxious habit and tasting the minty balm. 

 

He'd hoped to the Maker it wasn't poisonous to ingest.

 

"Who knows." He let out a small sigh and laid back on the cot best he could, placing his hands behind his head.

 

"It seems too good to be true, if I'm being honest." 

 

Corvan sighed in agreement. They were still feeling the aftermath of Haven. Despite their escape, there were too many wounded keeping Mother Giselle's healers busy.  Many of them would not survive the journey. 

 

"Amazing how fast this stuff works, it doesn't even sting anymore." 

 

Corvan brought a hand up to dab at one of the treated cuts. Dorian had half a mind to swat it away. Healing was easily hindered by curious intervention, Vivienne had shared. But they were small, in no danger for infection, and Corvan didn't need another person mother-henning over him.

 

"Commander Cullen said we are leaving tomorrow. Good decision."

 

"Sounds like him. We’re going forward nearly blind."

 

"It's better than waiting to die here. I can't imagine freezing to death is very glamerous."

 

Corvan hadn't laughed a real, full laugh in a long while. Perhaps he shouldn't have at that moment, but Dorian, intentional or not, had eased the elf's mind. It was a full-bodied, somewhat bubbly laugh, perfectly suited to him. Not as deep and rich as Dorian's, but it carried the same mirth, something Dorian was quick to drink in. 

 

"And here I was concerned being trampled by an angry druffalo was going to be my end."

 

“Ah, but you couldn't have been that worried seeing as you took the _loudest_ , _chattiest_ , and arguably  _angriest_ of our little band out to procure provisions."

 

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. “

 

"Shall I carve that on your tombstone? “

 

" _How do you do that_?” He let out a reluctant chuckle, nodding his head and looking down at his hands. Dorian eyed him, readying his wit. 

 

“You’ll have to be specific."

 

"Insult a person yet keep all that charm. I’m finding it hard to dislike you.”

 

“It's a gift I'm sure. My parents should be proud.”

 

Dorian took a moment to recoup his thoughts. _Had he just said-_ It was becoming harder and harder for the man to stay unattached with each smile and laugh escaping the elf sitting so dangerously close to him. He felt as if the entire camp was glaring daggers into his back as anxiety flooded him. 

 

"I should go. I don't want people to think I'm over here _stealing your soul_." Corvan could hear the reluctance in his word. He wanted to stay, Corvan wanted him to stay. Even if they sat in silence, it was a comfort. 

 

Corvan cut him off, boldly turning his head to look over at the camp behind him. Not many took notice of them. Though he did briefly meet the chastising gaze of Cassandra from across the camp fire, as well as the curious eyes of the boy named Cole, who was standing off to himself. He had to admit he was a bit unnerved as he saw Vivienne looking over at them with a strange sense of pride, as if she knew something no one else did. Turning back he could sense Dorian's slight disaproval, or most likely awe, that he would dare look back to stare down anyone who harbored a less than amicable thought towards the man. Dorian responded before Corvan could speak. He left abruptly, leaving the small case of medicine where he previously sat. 

 

"I'll leave this with you." 

 

Corvan bit his lip once more, still feeling the warmth left on his cot from mage. Somewhere in his mind, he imagined Dorian still sat next to him until it faded entirely. 

 

 

 


End file.
